Along For The Ride
by Geekiness-Is-LOVE
Summary: Cassie O'Moore, Irish Leprechaun, knew that in being best friends with the Weasley twins, you were just along for the ride.


**A/N: My first Fred/OC story! ENJOY!**

**31st August, Cat Lady I Shall Be:**

I actually hate this place. This place being the universe that we all live in. If I could hate it anymore I'd be dressed up in my caveman garb with my blue hair and taking to it with an axe. Or whatever they used in those days. Sticks, maybe? But I'll get back to the blue hair in a minute.

For whatever reason, I, Cassandra O'Moore, little Irish leprechaun, have been made a Prefect. A prefect. On what planet would you have to have shot off your rocker and landed on to even consider making me a Prefect? You know, that if you mix the letters up, it actually means I'm a Perfect. (And we all know how laughably ridiculously insanely preposterous that is! – I've been practising extending my vocabulary.) But I've probably failed at that too. Just like I've failed abysmally at life in general. Yes, abysmally. Real life definition is …. I suck so bad that I may as well throw myself off a cliff and save everyone the hassle of putting me up for me for the next indefinite number of years. In which I will be a cat lady.

Of course, I only have one cat, and the rule is, one cat for each major failure in your life. So, by the time Cassie is 80 years old, I shall be burdened with 500 cats. Or so.

Cassandra O'Moore, Irish redhead and Prefect. Bah, the irony and ridiculousness (is that even a word?) of it all hits me all over again, as hard as the Hogwarts Express. I'm the girl that breaks the rules, I don't enforce them!

Oh no! I secretly smoke! (Dear Merlin don't tell my mother) Are you allowed to smoke when you're a Prefect? What are you allowed to do when you're a Prefect? Other than study and engage in Normal-People Activities, as I like to call them in all my quirkiness.

To be honest, I don't even know why I'm allowed to go back to Hogwarts. I'm barely passing Transfiguration, and that's a core class. Snape hates me for that time I accidentally turned his hair pink, and I'm pretty sure he wants my head stuffed and placed on his mantle. 'Cause that seems like the pretty creepy shite that guy is into.

There is probably barely one class I'm scraping by with a pass mark. Maybe Divination, because Trelawney probably doesn't know I'm in her class. I take a nap and she passes me. That's the deal. Unspoken, of course.

I am of course, passing with flying colours in Professional Procrastination. Unfortunately that hasn't been introduced into the curriculum yet at dear old Hoggy-Warts.

Hogwarts. Great place. If only I could stay there for the rest of my life with my two best friends. We'd be the wizened old wizards and witch sitting up the back of the class twirling their moustaches. I'll be an elegant old lady with pearls and a peach cardigan. I don't want to go out into the world. I'll probably end up barmaid at the Leaky Cauldron. Fortescue's ice cream bitch. Anything that doesn't involve a qualification, basically. I'll be the Wizarding version of a checkout chick.

Anyway. Seventh year has officially begun, and I still cannot believe I'm a Prefect. What happens if I do something bad and they "uncrown" me? (I couldn't think of a better word for it.) What if I break the Code of Prefects, thereby incurring immediate excommunication from the Order of Perfects with the Shiny Hair and the Even Shinier Badges?

"Hey!" My sister yelled in her annoyingly nasal voice, yanking at the journal balanced on my knees as I sat in bed. "What are you doing?"

"Homework," I sighed heavily, snatching it back.

"Mum wants you downstairs," She spitefully poked her tongue out. "She said you're in trouble." I hate twelve year olds.

"Yeah," I scoffed. "Mum also says you're pretty." I muttered as I stomped down the stairs. "Doesn't mean it's true."

That sounds mean, I am aware. But she put blue hair dye in my shampoo bottle at the start of the summer, that snarky nasty bitch. AND, she lost my favourite shirt. (It was a really cool shirt, okay?) Anyway, she's a mean spiteful child, and the ends of my long brown curly hair? Still blue. Bright, aqua, turquoise, whatever you want to call it, it's ugly and weird.

Like I'm not weird and ugly enough already.

Seriously. If I were a Barbie, I'd be the Aqua-Haired Short Barbie. The Aqua-Haired Short Barbie who was discontinued because she's lame, doesn't have Barbie breasts and doesn't deserve to adorn the shelves of K-Mart because she's ugly, weird, flat-chested and has blue hair.

Wow. I'm really getting good at insulting myself in my journal. I'll probably end up failing at that too, but let's enjoy it while it lasts, shall we?

Such is the way of Cassie O'Moore, Irish leprechaun.

"The phone," My mum handed the phone to me and sat at the Formica table, flipping through the paper.

My brain clouded as I tried to think of anyone who would even call me on my home phone. I tired and failed to imagine any of my pure-blooded yet darling and completely clueless best friends knowing how to use a phone. Owls, they got. Phones, not so much.

"Hello?" I questioned, voice wavering oddly.

"Hey C!"

"Cass!"

"CeCe!"

"Weasley twins!" I exclaimed excitedly. The Weasley twins are my two best friends at Hogwarts. They stumbled up to little old me in all their red haired glory in first year when I was still struggling to get on to the platform. Something just clicked, because we spent the train ride terrorising the dear old trolley lady with the measly few trick spells that Fred and George could remember. Until their older brother Percy caught us. Nice bloke, that Percy. Bit pompous, though. And his head is quite enlarged. Anyway, he sat us in the compartment across from his, keeping a very close eye on the Terrible Triplets. Then I laughed. "Wait a second, how many of you are there?"

"Lee's here," George explained.

"When did the Three Musketeers learn how to use a phone?" I exclaimed, propping my self up on the bench, kicking my feet against the cupboard doors.

"The pretty girl at the post office taught us how," Fred recounted dreamily, and I could almost picture him propping himself up on one elbow, all three of those crazy boys nearly spilling out of the phone box. He'd always been a bit of a ladies' man. Or attempted to be. Or thought he was. He'd never had a self-esteem problem that boy, that's for sure.

"Tart," I commented laughingly. My mother glared at me before dropping the paper and leaving the room, most likely offended by my … I don't know, general happiness? "You guys actually went into a post office?"

"Yeah," George said heavily. He sounded as if the experience had been traumatising for him.

"Fred flirted with the teller the entire time and now he's giving her sex eyes," Lee explained.

"Why is Lee invited to the Burrow?" I pouted. It wasn't like I enjoyed spending my summer being teased and pranked by my little sister. Though that would probably occur with the Weasley twins as well. I had been to the Burrow a few times before, and I absolutely adored Molly Weasley. She was a second mum to everyone she knew.

"We still love you," George promised.

There was rustling, a suave voice and girlish giggles in the background.

"Fred!" I barked. "You haven't spoken to me all summer. Have some respect and refrain from sex-eyes and your usual skanky shit."

Fred chuckled. "I love you too, Cassie."

"Anyway," George spoke over the rustle that was most likely Fred going to chat up the doubtfully attractive teller. Fred would chase literally anything in a skirt. "We just wanted to make sure the Slacker Extraordinaire was coming back this year."

"I resent that. You're drop-out material too." I argued heatedly.

"Yeah, but we're going to be millionaires," George argued.

"Ouch. You wound me, Weasley." I twirled the phone cord idly around my finger.

"I –" And with that, their bloody money ran out and I was left with a dial tone. I hadn't even told them about my blue hair yet! Ah well. A nice surprise for them tomorrow.

I loitered around the phone for a few more minutes, waiting for it to ring again, but to no avail. No doubt Fred had already offended Post Office Chick and she refused to help them work the payphone again. I sighed. This meant I'd actually have to go and pack my trunk, because the contents of it were currently strewn across my room. I'm not one for neatly packing and unpacking. It's another charming quirk of the Aqua Haired Short Barbie, Limited Edition.

The phone rang twice and I snatched to grab it. "He-Helloooooo!" A voice yelled down the line.

"Hi," I said dryly.

"Hellooo!" George yelled again, tapping what I thought to be his finger against the receiver.

I snatched it away from my ear. "Ow, Georgie!" I exclaimed.

"She isn't there," George turned away from the phone I guess, his voice fading.

"Ah well, lovely Post Office Lady here I come," Fred announced in a weird accent before hanging up.

"Hey!" I yelled, but it was too late. Bloody purebloods. They're hopeless, the lot of them!

* * *

**1st September. Hoggy-Warts and the Terrible Trio Reunion.**

My alarm clock didn't go off, because of course that's the law of Cassandra. Everything that can go wrong will, in the most magical, sparkly and spectacular fashion. "Cassie!" My mum bellowed rather loudly from the bottom of the stairs. "Steve'll take you to the station!"

I popped my head over the covers, shocked. Great. She managed to organise a ride for me, but not check if I was even conscious. Ah well. I know it isn't her fault, but lately the more sleep I get, the crabbier I get. Oddly.

I shot out of bed like a blue haired rocket, wheeled my messily packed trunk to the door, and swapped my trackies for jeans, pulling on my sheepskin ugg boots and a black singlet with red roses splotched on, my favourite grey knit tied loosely around my waist. My purple bag slung over my shoulder, I thundered down the stairs, grabbing an apple. "Mum," I called.

She rounded the corner, and sighed, "The blue didn't come out, huh?"

"No," I said snarkily. But thanks for reminding me. And, way to ruin our heartfelt goodbye. "Bye mum!"

"Bye darling!" She trilled, kissing me on the cheek and hugging me, but letting go too soon. "Oh! My cookies!" She dashed around the corner, tea towel flung over her shoulder.

I rolled my eyes. Love you too. I heaved my trunk over the front step. Yet, when I got it out to the car, Steve, my older brother wasn't there. Oh goodie. I get to go and wake the sleeping dragon.

Knocking on Steve's door was useless. "Steve!" I yelled. If he hadn't answered by now, no doubt he'd had a little too much fun last night and was feeling a tad under the weather. I pushed open the door, meeting resistance in the form of all the crap he was too lazy to actually fold and put in cupboards. Great. I observed his sleeping form. He's going to breathe fire. Did you know that the English translation of our school motto is 'never tickling a sleeping dragon?' I mean, I'm practically breaking a school rule. (Not that that's ever stopped me doing anything before.)

"Steve!" I whisper-shouted. "Stephen!"

He rolled over, dark hair in his eyes. "Steve!" I tentatively kicked his mattress. "Seriously, Steve!"

He groaned. "I hate you."

"You have to take me to the station." I said.

"I hate you."

"I'll wait in the car, dork."

He groaned again. "I –"

"I know, you hate me," I waved my hands at him. "Are you hungover?"

"Not completely," He wiped his mouth. "Is your hair still blue?"

I gave a muffled shriek, stomping out of his room. "I hate you!" I retaliated, stalking out of the front door.

My family sucks. I literally wish I was adopted. I probably was adopted, now that I think about it. My mum's rack is huge. There is now way she could have given birth to such a flat chested, short mutant freak. And everyone else in my family is light haired, yet I'm dark haired. Heck, my mum and my sister Beth look exactly the same. Steve and my dad are clones of each other. Though, everyone says I apparently look like Aunt Marjorie when she was younger. That woman is one ugly old lady, no offence. Look what I have to look forward to!

Finally, Steve emerges, sunglasses on, trackies and thongs on his feet. He is rocking the disgusting teenage boy look, and sits in the car for a few seconds before he starts it. "Come on!" I urge. "I'm going to be late!"

"Chill," he whispered, voice raspy. "And please … don't talk so loud."

Finally, after getting every stop light from here to eternity on the way to the station, we get there and Steve easily lifts my trunk out of the boot of our old blue Ford.

"Well," he said, hands slouched in his pockets.

"Yeah," I smiled awkwardly. Seeing as I went to Hogwarts and he went to a Muggle school in our area, and then got a job for the summer, we'd hardly seen each other our entire adolescence. We were more like friendly acquaintances than brother and sister. And he found the whole magic thing weird. It was kind of sad. I wondered if this happened with all Muggle-born witches and wizards.

Just then, a suave voice from behind me chuckled, "We'll take it from here Mr O'Moore."

Steve grinned at the two red-haired twins he'd met every year when my family dropped me off at the station. But not this year. My mum was too busy … making cookies, this year. "Hey boys," He shook Fred and George's hands respectively.

"Steve," George greeted politely.

"Can we take our leprechaun now?" Fred asked, a little more informally.

Steve chuckled. "Bye Cassie," he pulled me in for a hug and I relaxed into his woollen jacket and big brother embrace.

"Bye Steve," I said, voice hitching in my throat embarrassingly. I'd just been talking about how distant we were to each other and now here I was about to cry!

"Send me some of those Peppermint Imps!" He yelled as he drove away, waving in the rear view mirror.

I turned to face my two best friends. "Hi."

"That's all?" George asked, pretending to be wounded. He hugged me tightly, grabbing the ends of my blue hair.

"So it worked then?"

"What worked?" I asked curiously as each twin slung an arm about my shoulder and we made our way into the bustling station.

Fred grinned. "We've been testing a few of our products all summer," he explained.

"And we've done some permanent novelty coloured hair dye," George continued.

I didn't like where this was heading. "Well," Fred explained. "Blue doesn't go with red, and I already nearly made all my hair fall out this summer."

"So," George took up the story. "We sent your sister a sample and gave her specific instructions on how to plant it in your shampoo."

My mouth dropped open. "You? It was you? You are the reason my hair is blue!" I shoved Fred away from me. "You bloody bastards! MY HAIR IS BLUE!"

Fred chuckled. "I told you, we should have just done it to Ginny."

George scoffed. "Right. You think Ginny would have been any less scary? And Cassie's had the summer to cool off."

Fred shrugged. "Eh. I guess you're right."

"You prats," I muttered. "I cant believe you. You're so lucky the sample didn't work. If my hair ended up permanently blue …" I left the threat hanging in the air, open-ended.

"There's a charm to change it back," Fred said breezily. "Chill out, Cass."

"Grr," I gritted my teeth. "Maybe I'll tell Molly."

"No don't," George begged.

"Please," Fred added.

You think the Weasley twins enjoy a little joke? Well, I can be just as mischievous. Just you wait, boys, just you wait.

We were just about to run at the barrier when the twins stopped me. "We're sorry." They said in unison, eyes pleading.

I narrowed my own back at them. "Apology acceptance pending."

"We can wait," George responded.

"We're patient men," Fred chimed in.

"No you aren't," I frowned at the two before pushing my trunk in front of me, running at the barrier.

I emerged on the other side and spotted the Weasley clan in a secluded quieter corner of the platform. I headed over to where Mrs Weasley was fussing over Ginny, tugging at her braids.

"Cassandra!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed, hugging me in greeting. "How are you dear?"

"I'm good," I replied brightly.

"Your hair looks … nice," she lied, smiling.

"Thanks your sons for that one," I glared at Fred and George who ducked their heads guiltily.

Mrs Weasley gasped. "Boys!"

"Sorry mum," they said simultaneously, as if they were trying to ward off the coming lecture. No such luck.

I stepped back as Mrs Weasley continued to scold them. "Good one," Ginny Weasley said appreciatively.

"I know," I shrugged modestly.

She tugged on the ends of my blue hair. "I like it," She said decisively.

"You should have seen it in the first few days," I said darkly. "I looked like a Popsicle. My brother wouldn't stop taking pictures."

Ginny shuddered and touched her own hair. "I'm sorry they're such prats."

"It's alright," I laughed. "Their prat to normal ratio is actually improving somewhat. They _were_ going to experiment on you."

"I figured," Ginny sighed. "I've been practising my Bat-Bogey Hex on the garden gnomes."

"I'd say that's why they didn't," I giggled at Mrs Weasley waving her finger at the boys.

A boy with jet black hair and green eyes approached hesitantly. "Hi," he said shyly.

As I caught sight of the scar, I realised it was Harry Potter. I'd known the Weasleys were friends with him, but I'd only ever seen him a few times.

"Hey," Ginny's voice shook just slightly, her cheeks flushed pink. Aw, what a cutie. She was hopelessly in like with the Chosen One.

"Do you know where Ron is?" Harry asked pleasantly.

Ginny pointed to Ron Weasley, who was standing off to the side, with a bushy haired witch I didn't know. "Thanks," Harry said gratefully, heading over to them.

I nudged Ginny, grinned. "Ooh, who's got a crush?" I sang.

"Do not," Ginny's cheeks were as red as her hair. I loved that girl. I loved all the Weasley's. They were like a second family to me, and I felt no shame in teasing her.

"I think you do," I continued.

"I've been practising my Bat-Bogey Hex," She threatened, nudging me back, laughing.

I stepped back. "Oh, I'm shaking in my boots."

"Speaking of which, cool shoes," she commented, pointing at my ugg boots.

"Haha, thanks," I laughed sarcastically. "Cool segue."

Ginny giggled. "Thanks."

Molly had finished reprimanding the boys, and they both glared at me as they kissed their mother on the cheek and headed off the train. Molly hugged and kissed me once again, sending me off to get on the train. "Quick, quick dear, it's nearly eleven."

"Bye," I waved as I found where Fred and George had snagged a compartment and then went to stand at the window with them.

"That is the meanest thing anyone has ever done to me," Fred pouted.

"I agree," George said firmly.

"Well, my two best friends were going to permanently dye my hair blue," I said conversationally.

Fred shrugged. "So we're even?"

"Sure," I said lightly as we the steam train whistled and began to move off, students waving vigorously to their parents and siblings. And we were on our way. On our way to the one place I could have great fun, with my two best friends.

Lee Jordan, Quidditch commentator and dread-locked best friend of the Weasley twins strolled down the train corridor grinning. "Hey Gred, Forge!"

"Hey Lee!"

"Jordan!"

Lee widened his arms and I walked right into them. "Hello, my lovely blue-haired lady!" He greeted, pulling on the ends of my curly ponytail.

"Dreadlocks Boy," I returned the favour, stepping out of his embrace and leading them to our compartment. On the inside, Lee was almost crazy as me. However, on the outside, I was now the Blue-Haired Freak.

I sat next to Fred, George and Lee opposite me. Then, the Quidditch talk started. And I drift in out of listening to the conversation. This is what happens when your best friends are boys.

Fred was outraged, waving his hands around. "But the Holyhead Harpies have Coulter as their Seeker!"

Okay, even I knew this one. "You cant rely on Coulter to carry the entire team!" I exclaimed. "That's ridiculous!"

"Yeah," Lee agreed. "The Cannons are at least solid. Good Seeker, good Beaters, good Chasers."

"But no-one's brilliant!" George argued. "And that's the thing. Winners, premiers … are brilliant!"

Fred shook his head. "You're all nutters."

"Well, you're on crack if you think the Harpies are winning this year." Lee folded his arms across his chest.

"Yeah," Lee scoffed. "Call me when their Beater knows which end of the club goes up."

"You don't have a phone," Fred niggled.

"Semantics," Lee waved a hand. "Besides, Cassie has one, she's Muggle born!"

I poked him with my purple fuzzy-socked foot. "Are you getting all pureblood on me?"

"Never," all three of them promised.

"So, how was your summer Cass?" Fred asked, clearly attempting to put the argument behind him. Quidditch talk always gets ugly when these three ratbags get involved.

"Brill." I responded sarcastically. Seriously? I was hanging out in Muggle Land with my snarky sister and annoying older brother and they were being all wizardy and fun, with Lee.

"No hot Muggle boy to fill the sweaty summer nights?" Lee asked suavely.

"Lee!" I admonished.

"Don't mind Dreadlocks Boy," Fred asked. "So? Were there any Muggle boys?"

"No." I frowned. "Why do you care?"

"Just do." George answered for all of them.

"Well, thanks Dad." I laughed.

George shrugged. "I try to look after you where I can, little leprechaun."

I sighed. "I'm going to sleep now."

I stretched my legs out over Fred, arms crossed, head against the window, floating into the land of nothingness as the boys started to chat again. Fred put his arms on my legs and leant over. "So, Skiving Snackboxes?"

"Yeah!" George looked equally as eager.

"How about we…?" And then I really, well and truly fell asleep.

**Reviews would be lovely! SO, what do you think of Cassie?**


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